


Trusted As No Other Man

by JulisCaesar



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Third Cetagandan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulisCaesar/pseuds/JulisCaesar
Summary: A look at the Third Cetagandan War, and what a "peculiar" victory would be.Or: Governmental concerns while the Regent is away.
Comments: 28
Kudos: 84





	Trusted As No Other Man

He had only been in bed an hour when the general alarm went off.

They both snapped awake instantly, although Aral didn't think Cordelia had ever been in the Residence when Security hit the general alarm--a medical one, most certainly, but this was a different pitch. But then, given everything, of course Cordelia would wake instantly.

"The boys," she said while he was pulling on a tunic.

He nodded his assent and, dressed in just the sleeveless tunic and shorts, ran for the security room.

Simon was already there in undress greens, although the bags under his eyes were growing deeper by the minute. "Sir, I regret to inform you the Cetagandans have breached Komarr."

There were too many competing thoughts to pick one. Finally they crystallized and he said, "Prepare a report, Captain. I assume I have time to get dressed."

"Sir," Simon said, nodding, and pulling his console back up. "Five minutes can certainly be spared. The report is ready for you"

Of course Simon already had a report. The wonder was that he had hit the alarms. "Alarms, Illyan?"

Simon Illyan, head of Imperial Security, and the only man Aral trusted with the Emperor's safety, said, "The news is three days old."

"Shit," Aral said, and went for his uniform.

* * *

In the the war room, Simon had assembled the major players: General Raoul Vorlakial, Chief of Staff of the Imperial Service; Admiral Eustace Vorgier, Chief of ImpMil; Simon himself in the role of Chief of ImpSec, although undoubtedly his other hats would come into play; Count Vorpinski, the only Count who could be scared up at such a time, largely because he was a chronic womanizer and insomniac; and a dozen apprehensive Lieutenants with consoles already to hand, awaiting orders.

"Lord Regent!" Simon said, rising promptly and sitting just as fast without waiting for Aral's wave. The rest followed, none faster than the Lieutenants.

"Report, Illyan," Aral said without preface, sitting at the head of the table. It never got less odd--not leading a room of officers, _that_ he had made peace with years before, but sitting here, in the Emperor's place. Two years, and he had yet to accept it.

Simon didn't need to pull up notes. "Admiral Kanzian, Komarr commanding, reports that contact with Solstice Base has been lost. This is attributed to the simultaneous arrival of Cetagandan vessels in-system. They entered through the Rho Ceta wormhole at 1730 Komarr time, three days ago. The fast courier has been travelling since."

There was silence around the table. Finally Aral said, "General Vorlakial, status of the space forces."

Like Simon, Raoul Vorlakial didn't need notes for this. "I can have everything scrambled within twelve hours if you're willing to take half staff on non-essential positions. First ships would be lifting in two hours at full complement, but there's only five of those. There is a full fleet at Spacefort One currently holding Kanzian's fast courtier as well as two squads of their own. For the rest...six hours for the first fleet, twelve for everyone else and quality goes down fast. Sir."

"Start scrambling." Aral breathed Cetagandan contingency plans, and none relied on half-assing a response. "Don't hold anyone back--I want ships in the air as soon as they're at full battle stations, and damn if they don't have a full staff yet. Get them to Spacefort One and hold on my order. I'll use the _General_ _Vorparadijs_ as my flagship--make sure the captain knows. Who's commanding it?"

"Commodore Goulandris."

Well enough. "Good. Give him the heads up. Vorlakial, when you're done scrambling, I want the ground forces on ready-alert. They'll get a half hour warning of invasion and they're to be on that standard. Delegate a company to the Emperor's safety. They're to take their orders from Lady Vorkosigan, is that clear? She is my voice in this, as I am the Emperor's." He stared down Vorlakial. They had run in the same circles through military academy, but split after that and never regained their closeness. Aral wasn't sure if it was his behavior or choice of comrades--or both--but while Vorlakial had been loyal during Vordarian's Pretendership, then Aral had remained on-planet. Now he was proposing to be a wormhole jump away--an entirely different matter.

Vorlakial hesitated, clenched his jaw, and nodded. "Yes, Sire."

And that was that.

"Vorgier, who's in command at Spacefort One? Still Hessman?" At Vorgier's nod, he continued. "Good, he'll hold. He's to set a message relay through the wormholes. Contact _must_ maintained with Kanzian." He drummed his fingers once. "Three days is too much of a delay. It'll be done in three days, whatever it is. We need to plan on not being there for Kanzian--and Komarr--and doing this over relay. Vorgier, relay fastest. Kanzian'll have his end, so we're looking at thirty six hours. Vorlakial, where're we at in thirty six hours?"

"At the wormhole, as far as I'm concerned," Vorlakial said. "If I have thirty six hours, Lord Regent, the whole Service can be at ready status and at the wormhole ready for a jump. For the last," he tapped the comconsole, "quarter, they're at battle stations and half-staff only. The rest are at full staff."

Vorkosigan nodded. "Done. Lieutenant," he pointed to the closest one, "send those orders. You," the next one, "the senior class at the Academy is close to graduation, tell the Director to enlist the lot of them, half to ground duty and half to ship duty, he'll know which. Count Vorpinski."

The count had seen the far side of sixty during the Pretendership and only let it show in the amount of hair dye he used. "Lord Regent."

"Do you foresee problems with the Council of Counts over this?" Although he could place a good guess, both at the problems and who the problems would come from. Count Vordroza, for one, who was poised to die at any moment but had yet to let it stop him from picking fights with every position Aral took as Lord Regent. For another, Count Vorrutyer, whose paranoia had only been on the increase in recent years.

Count Vorpinski stroked his beard. "What answer would you like, Lord Regent?"

Illyan looked at the ceiling, no doubt to hide a smile. He knew as well as Aral how much Aral hated dissembling.

"A quick one, Count Vorpinski."

"Yes, absolutely. But there is a chance if the Progressives take the Cetagandan Invasion angle that it may be controlled." Vorpinski was a hardline moderate, but he had a sensible head on his shoulders for a man who'd been neutral in every conflict since Emperor Dorca united the Counts.

Aral nodded to him, the sort of gesture he made to a man who hadn't yet realized he'd volunteered for something and might yet be persuaded into not figuring it out until later. "Thank you, Count, if you would take that message to the Progressive party, I would be grateful."

Whether it was to his credit or not, Count Vorpinski nodded. "Of course, Lord Regent."

"My lords, we must now be aware we are facing a credible danger. The Cetagandans have invaded our territory for the third time, but this time we have no adult Emperor. I ask that you listen to me as the Emperor's Regent and trust me to guide us through this crisis." Every man was looking at him--the Lieutenants with undisguised awe--except Illyan, who was no doubt recording facial expressions for future use. "I will command the war effort. Admiral Kanzian is my second. General Vorlaikal takes command of the ground defense--there are to be no evacuations unless necessary. I don't want the populace to panic. Admiral Vorgier will handle the activation of our space forces."

He paused and made sure he had all their attention. "Lady Vorkosigan, as my wife, stands as Lady Regent in the event of disaster. Captain Illyan will handle the Emperor's defense and report to her. For administration, I ask that the Council of Counts and the General Staff wait until this crisis has passed to return to their regular bickering. I have made note of my chosen successor and left it in the care of Captain Illyan, who will only reveal it in dire need. For all minor matters, then, the regular branches of government should be sufficient."

The name was _Piotr Vorkosigan_. If it came to that, he would sacrifice Miles for the safety of Barrayar. He could not do differently.

"My lords, I expect regular reports. I shall also keep in contact. This started because we did not maintain constant communication with our forces in Komarr. That is a weakness we evidently cannot afford. I leave you now to your orders." He stood, presaging a general rise, and wished he was twenty--even ten years younger. What a difference that would make.

* * *

It was, by his chronometer, one in the morning. Kouldelka had been rousted from bed and packed a case; he trusted Kou to know what he would need for this. "Can't be your batman this time, I'm afraid," he said without much trace of apology. "Drou needs me."

"And the Emperor," Aral said. He went into the front of the case for his Admiral's tabs, found them, and slipped them on. "Captain--let's not repeat the Pretendership. I don't want Lady Vorkosigan to feel like she has to get involved."

Cordelia didn't touch him from behind--they both knew better than that. "What do I not want to get involved in?"

He turned on his heel and pulled her into a kiss. "I think _you_ would want to get involved, my dear Captain, but there are some scandals this Regency doesn't need. Let's avoid them if we can."

She held him tight by the arms, like the woman who had thrown away a Betan citizenship to come to Barrayar. "I'm quite happy to be managed, love, just let me know when you are so I don't step on anyone's toes."

He chuckled. "Illyan will handle you, and everyone else is for the Emperor."

"And where will you be? What foolishness have the Counts gotten into now that they need you at this hour?" She wasn't pleased--well, the truth wouldn't help her.

He just rested his forehead on hers. "Cetagandans. And Komarr."

Her face went still for a moment. "You'll say goodbye to them before you take off," she said finally. "If he has to lose another father figure, it'll happen properly."

More gently, Aral kissed her again. "We will do our very best to come home intact. But yes, I'm coming to speak with them now."

He waved Kouldelka off and let Cordelia lead him down the maze of corridors to the secure bedroom. Usually it had a single Vorbarra Armsman; tonight there were two, and an ImpSec Lieutenant who was at least as dangerous as both of them put together. The Lieutenant squared up and demanded Aral's identification; pleased, he handed it over and then vouched for Cordelia. That was good: There would be no taking chances with the Regent off planet. They couldn't afford it.

Miles was soundly asleep--the painkillers were good for that if nothing else--but Gregor was, and probably always would be, a light sleeper. He was too big now to be held for long periods of time, so Drou was sitting in a rocking chair with him on her lap, singing softly. His thumb was back in his mouth, but Cordelia had snapped at Aral the last time he had tried to stop Gregor, so he let it be.

He bowed shallowly to Gregor, who just stared. "Sire."

Cordelia, who refused to budge on the position of treating Gregor like the Emperor the moment he reached his majority and never before, looked at him. He took the implied order and picked up Gregor. The boy--too hard to think of him as anything else at two in the morning--looked surprised, but was shocked into a smile when Aral swung him round, on long buried instinct.

"I will come back," he told Gregor and if Gregor, to his shame, didn't seem to believe it, there was little he could do about that. "It's just some trouble with spaceships. I'll have Captain Illyan fill you in." He put Gregor down and ruffled his hair, which did get a sleepy smile.

In the background, the alarm finally turned off.

"Oh, thank God." Cordelia ran her hands over her face. "If it's just 'spaceships', tell them we don't need a general alarm. All it does is scare everyone."

Aral shook his head. "The last time, it was contained." With his eyes, with the way he went silent and tried not to elaborate in the presence of his Emperor, who was, after all, a boy who had already known too much death, he willed Cordelia to understand.

She did. "Ah. Well. We always need more drills. And it means Drou will be nearby all night, doesn't it?" She tucked a curl of hair behind Gregor's ear. Drou had gone still and frowning, trying to follow. Illyan would fill her in too.

"It does." And every Vorbarra armsman, desperate to not fail their liege-lord again. He crossed to check on Miles. His son was still frighteningly tiny and fragile, but when he was awake he was babbling nearly every moment, and even when asleep his eyes twitched under his eyelids. "In the event of a drill, Sire, please go to Drou. Cordelia will take Miles."

Gregor nodded seriously, but Aral suspected, from the pinched lips and way he kept looking back for Drou, that he knew any drill would be no such.

After a moment, he picked Gregor up again and gave him a firm hug and a kiss. He handed the boy back to an approving Drou, and turned again to Miles. His son, strapped to the backboard and leg braces, couldn't move in dreaming other than his fingers and toes, but those were almost constantly in motion. Even now Aral didn't dare pick him up. He just ran his fingers over Miles's head and then kissed it gently.

Last was Cordelia, who he treated to the same swirl as Gregor, albeit with considerably more effort. "My dear Captain," he said, kissing her. "I will report in as I am able. Give them hell."

"Funny, I was about to say the same to you."

"It shouldn't get to the point where you have to evacuate, but if you do..."

She kissed him this time. "I would be delighted to take two children under the age of ten, one of them in need of constant medical care, into the Dendarii Mountains, thank you for asking. At least Gregor can _ride_."

He laughed, bowed slightly to her, bowed deeply to Gregor, and went for his groundcar.

* * *

By the time he had taken command of the _General Vorparadijs_ \--Commodore Goulandris had been overawed to cede command to the Lord Regent and Hero of Komarr, and only barely been persuaded to take up the bulk of the regular work--they were back in contact with Kanzian.

The first message was no longer than the warning delivered now three hours earlier, but it was substantially more reassuring: _Holding Barrayar wormhole. Request assistance. Couriers stationed at the wormholes._

The second was two hours later and by that point Aral had a grasp on the situation.

There were five wormholes and four empty systems between Barrayar and Komarr. It took three days, pushing to critical the whole way, to get between the two planets, but you could shave off half a day if all you needed was to get between the furthest wormholes. Once a ship was in-system they could broadcast at lightspeed anyway. So the initial report was two and a half days old.

The moment the report was through, Hessman set up a courier relay through the first Barrayar wormhole, and that was when they learned that Kanzian had lived up to his reputation. Immediately behind his first, dangerously fast warning was his whole comportment of fast courtiers setting up relays at each wormhole between Barrayar and Komarr.

The lag was down to ninety minutes.

Aral's first response was simply a series of confirmations before he sat to analyse Kanzian's latest message with the tacticians. _Help coming. Confirm all decisions to date. Take whatever actions necessary. Admiral Lord Regent Vorkosigan commanding._

According to Kanzian, the Cetagandans had sent a force through their wormhole that, while plentiful to handle Kanzian's Komarr fleet, wasn't remotely sufficient to take on Barrayar. What they were after wasn't altogether clear, but contact with Komarr Solstice hadn't resumed and Kanzian, who had drawn his forces into defensive formation around the Barrayar wormhole, hadn't been able to investigate.

The fleet congregated around the first wormhole jump twenty four hours after Kanzian's first alert. Aral had snatched a series of naps in the middle but otherwise split his time between planning--at a distance of five wormholes--a war with Kanzian, preventing one with Illyan, and try to keep the Council of Counts in order long enough to let him manage everything else.

Finally, on confirmation from Illyan that everything was secure at the Residence and none of the Counts had so much as twitched wrong, Aral gave the order to jump.

* * *

There was something about the whole situation that had Simon replaying every relevant memory, but since he had nothing but intuition, and the Regent was now twelve hours from the Residence anyway, he agreed to the wormhole jump.

If he kept taking stims, Lady Vorkosigan would come and administer a stunner to his head, so he handed over control of ImpSec for the night to the Domestic Affairs head and control of the Residence to Lady Vorkosigan. Four hours later and wishing for twice or three times as much, he woke to the sound of nerve disruptors close by.

He slept with one under his bed (and in his dresser) and had it to hand before he even knew where his belt was.

It took no time at all to decide that dignity could be regained, lives could not, and he sprinted out the door wearing only his shorts. His apartment was blocks from both the Residence and ImpSec HQ, so why attack _here?_

The rest of the floor was active ImpSec men and half the doors opened, disgorging men in the same state of undress as Simon. The others, with wives and children, remained firmly shut. Two fell in behind him without word and they three sprinted down the stairs, not trusting the lift.

Outside the sun was just rising. Civilians ducked for cover as men in service uniforms fired indiscriminately at a mob of armed rioters. Simon processed instantly that another gun would be of no benefit--the men behind him would take care of any additional firepower--but they would want a commander and an analyst right away.

Stopping at the foot of the stairs he sent the two men immediately behind him forward with a wave, but stopped a third and sent him back for a spare uniform. The fourth lent his captain's tabs and ImpSec Eyes to Simon momentarily. He held them in one hand and jogged toward the closest group of soldiers.

Fortunately the highest ranking man--in major's tabs--recognized him and said loudly, "Captain Illyan sir!"

He saluted back, much less impressive nearly naked. "What happened?"

"A rumor started that the Regent is dead. Then some bright spark thought they should check in person to see if the Emperor is alive and, well..." He fired at an armed civilian trying to lead a charge.

By this Simon gathered it was worse at the Residence--bad news indeed. "Take command here, there will be more out to join shortly--my building is entirely ImpSec. You can find me at the Residence or at the Emperor's side if he's elsewhere."

The man with the spare uniform turned up then and he pulled it on right there, trusting to his men to not let any of the proles shoot him. Accepting another salute from the major he jogged down the street, past the rapidly assembling neat lines of soldiers, towards the Residence.

Street fighting was bad--very bad--but that they were civilians, or at least out of uniform, and had nothing but fear uniting them--he could hope.

The closer he got to the Residence the higher the density of soldiers, and two blocks away he took the time to holster his disrupter and pin on his tabs and eyes. A block away soldiers started stopping him, and that was when he commandeered a com and called in his presence to whoever was in charge of security. After that they waved him through, and he was glad for keeping in shape by the time he came in one of the side doors.

He was met by a Lieutenant in undress greens and stubble. "Sir, unless you report otherwise we're locking down the Residence and putting barriers three blocks out."

"Confirmed." He didn't make a practice of second guessing officers' orders unless they were dangerously stupid, and right now he was short most of the information. "The Emperor?" He knew exactly where to go if they had done as they should and kept jogging down the corridor.

"In the lockbox along with his foster-mother and her son, plus two guards. The rest are outside." The Lieutenant kept pace easily, benefits of being five years younger.

Perfect, the lockbox had been designed by him as an exercise for Negri. "Who has a full report? Anyone?"

"Commander Ivanovich," the Lieutenant said promptly. "Duty commander."

Again, perfect. Julius Ivanovich was on his way up, had received the latest ImpSec training, and had never had an unauthorized thought in his life. "Back to your station, Lieutenant, I can handle it from here."

The command room was a carefully calculated one hundred feet from the lockbox in a straight line but a quarter mile to walk. Every inch was lined with consoles and monitors covering the whole Residence. Five men were in it, each looking like he'd aged ten years in the last night and all talking quietly.

"Sir!" one said, spotting him. "Captain Illyan!"

"Oh thank _God_ ," Commander Ivanovich said, collapsing into a chair. "Sir, sorry sir but no one ever briefed for city wide riots when the Regent is off-planet."

Simon found the camera in the lockbox and stared at it until he saw the Emperor move. "An oversight we will have to fix going forward. Report, Commander."

Ivanovich rubbed his face. "Well, you went off duty six hours ago. It's like they knew, because five minutes later someone posts on the city'net that the Regent is dead and the Cetas are after the Emperor. Then someone else--"

"Any information on who?"

"Not yet, sir, but the analysts are working on it. The second person says that a group should find the Emperor first, or the Cetas, whichever they happen to run into. That's when it all, pardon my Greek, goes to shit. It seems to have gone offline after that, but there were a dozen groups on the street to start with and it's only gotten worse from there."

"Where'd they get the weapons?" Simon switched screens, watching the security team clean a band of protesters out of the gardens. "Does someone have an eye on the Minister for War?"

Ivanovich shook his head. "Most of it is old service weapons--decom'd last year in fact. Must be a leak in one of the warehouses."

Retired service soldiers didn't keep their arms without good reason; disregarding recent history, the most likely explanation would be theft or a leak. "More likely leftover partisans from the Pretendership," he said absently. "Get me audio to the lockbox and two external lines: Count Vorkosigan and Commodore Hessman."

Everyone in the duty station knew him well enough to accept this without question. Commander Ivanovich turned to his mic and muttered into it for thirty seconds.

A speaker crackled into life. "Miles, love, you're going to do yourself an injury," Cordelia was saying. "Gregor, sit. I know you're anxious--we're all anxious. But if you must pace, do it where Miles can't try and copy."

Miles said, at the top of his lungs, " _Walkies_!"

"Lady Vorkosigan," Simon said into his mic. "Everyone safe?"

She turned with pinpoint accuracy to the camera. "Hello Simon, nice to hear a friendly voice. Everyone is safe but not calm, and we finally found the situation that will wake Miles up from his sedatives. Say hi, Gregor."

Gregor came into view, tear stained, pulling at his fingers obsessively. "Hi Illyan."

"Captain," Cordelia prompted quietly.

Gregor screwed up his face alarmingly, and immediately Cordelia picked him up.

"No titles tonight. Let us know how everything's going, please." She coaxed Gregor into waving but he still looked unsettled.

He didn't say a word to draw attention to the way their Emperor was behaving like a seven year old boy who had been dragged out of bed for the second night in a row. "Of course, Lady Vorkosigan." Simon cut the com.

Before anyone else could say something, Commander Ivanovich said, "Sir, I've got a little sister. No one blames him for being whiny. He's the Emperor _and_ a kid, but one of those he's going to stop being."

"Back on duty, Commander," Simon said. "Where's the connection to Commodore Hessman?"

"Here, sir," one of the Lieutenants said.

He turned on the line. "Commodore, this is Captain Illyan."

"Evening, sir. Admiral Vorkosigan has just made the first jump. Expecting a report from him in fifteen."

"When you get back in contact, we've locked down the Residence. Vorbarr Sultana is rioting. Emperor, Lady Vorkosigan, and Lord Miles are all safe. Have the courier wait for his reply."

Hessman barely paused. "Very good, Captain. Any other orders?"

"That's all," Simon said, and cut the com. "Commander, is anyone investigating the Barrayaran United Socialists? They supported the Pretendership and did not cooperate with disarms."

* * *

The other side of the jump cut the lag to seventy five minutes. This empty system was too large for the fast courier to be visible in any way but digitally, but that didn't stop Aral from staring out a viewport.

The jump, as they so often did, had scrambled his thoughts and now he put two of them together in a new way. "Communications, get a secure line to the courier relay at the next jump point. We have one shot at this and it needs to be right."

The Cetagandans had come through with a too-small force. Kanzian had been able to hold them off unaided for four days. Aral could put those two facts together and come up with a plan, and he would be surprised if Kanzian hadn't had the same idea and waited only until they were in close enough communication.

"Jump ship _Midnight_ on line, sir. What message do you want to send?"

"This is Admiral Vorkosigan to Admiral Kanzian." He outlined the plan in terse sentences. By the time he finished the communications officer had a familiar look of awe and others on the bridge were starting to smile.

"Let's not get too cocky now," he said when the message was sent. "We haven't even seen the Cetas yet. Navigation, set a course to the wormhole. Three quarter power, there's no rush."

* * *

The only response from Kanzian, an hour later, was an emphatic _Done_ , and Aral kept the fleet at three quarter speed through the second wormhole. That was when the message from Illyan caught up, and Aral retreated to his quarters to contemplate it.

Under these circumstances, the message had not only been read, but passed along by a dozen different agents, which raised the question: Had Simon dampened down the reality to prevent panic in ImpMil? He couldn't be sure. He kept close the thought that Cordelia and Miles were safe, and returned to his station.

The delay with Kanzian was down to forty five minutes when the other Admiral sent over a two word message: _Going dark._ They didn't reply.

Aral shifted the troops to high alert, ordered the marines to suit up, and erected the blast shields around the bridge. They came through the second wormhole in a nauseating blur. Aral took his seat and set the fleet to three quarter speed again.

There was no word from Kanzian as they approached the third wormhole. There was no verbal protest from his captains when he halted them and sent a single fast courtier through: Those who didn't know the plan had to guess they were getting close to the Cetagandans regardless, and Kanzian's courtier group was only cycling when they received a message. This group hadn't rotated in an hour.

An agonizing ten minutes later the courtier came back and contacted the _General_ _Vorparadijs_ immediately.

"Sir, the exit is clear but the system is full of Cetas. Group Captain McKenna says he will withdraw in good order if not given alternative directions in a half hour. No sign of Admiral Kanzian, sir."

A handful of his officers began to grin.

Aral knew better than to celebrate quite yet. "Thank you, Commander. Return through the wormhole and inform Group Captain McKenna that we will be following and expect him to hold the path clear. If he doesn't have it already, make sure he has the list of ships in the fleet."

"Yessir!"

"And tell him we'll be falling into battle order. I want the courtiers to fold in behind the third wing. That'll be all, Commander."

"Yessir! Over and out." The com cut and, on the digital display, the courtier vanished.

"Commodore, prepare the fleet for jump."

* * *

Simon could only guess at the butcher's bill for tonight. The rioters were armed and ImpSec responded with lethal force. But the sun was rising again, and the Residence remained intact.

"Captain Illyan," Cordelia said, joining him in the war room with Gregor attached to one hand. "Gregor likes to watch the news between three and five in the afternoon."

He looked at Cordelia, resplendent in a traditional pattern bolero and skirt. The woman who had ended the Pretendership over a threat to her son. "I'll make sure the media keeps their visuals for after eighteen hundred, just in case."

She smiled and blew him a kiss. "Sort out the security issues please, Captain, but I think the Emperor should speak to his people tomorrow."

After two years of the Regency, Cordelia had finally worked out when Gregor was her foster-son and when he was the Emperor. "Another message for the news anchors. They will be delighted."

"I'm sure. Say thank you, Gregor."

Gregor stared up at him. He had seen Simon too many times under unforgiving circumstances to talk willingly to him. Instead he nodded somberly.

Simon knelt and saluted with equal resolve. "I am at your service, Sire."

"Thanks, Captain," Cordelia said, very dry. "And don't forget to proof the reports from the Regent before anyone reads them to the Emperor."

He stood, nodding. "If there is anything else, Lady Vorkosigan, I _do_ have security to handle."

If anything, she got drier. "Of course, Captain Illyan." Her eyes promised vengeance, but it would take a Betan to figure out what for. She led Gregor off and Simon returned his attention to the security team.

"You heard the Emperor, men. No images for the media before the watershed. And Captain, make sure the gardens are clean regardless."

None of the ImpSec men questioned the orders--or him. Negri had left the department in exacting order, and it had been straight forward for Simon to step into his shoes and take control. No one had tried to replace him; it had certainly helped that Simon listed the names of insurgents next to his desk and crossed them out in heavy black pen as they were executed. Nor did anyone-- _anyone--_ want to disagree with the Lady Regent to her face, when everyone knew what had happened to the Pretender. And who.

The Cetas should be happy they were facing Admiral Lord Vorkosigan and not his wife.

* * *

Simon had no interest in the Council of Counts beyond the security implications, and only marginally more concern for any given count.

With one exception.

It haunted him, because he knew--as Negri had known, and as Emperor Ezar had intimately known--that the Vorbarras depended on the Vorkosigans more than on any other family. He trusted Aral as he trusted no other man, and no longer wondered which he would choose if Aral made a grab for the Imperium. He may as well wonder what would happen if the sun vanished.

But that was Aral.

Now he had summoned, in the Emperor's name, Count Vorkosigan to the Residence to discuss emergency procedures. This was under strong protest from Lady Vorkosigan, but over time he had worn her down. To the end of his days, Simon cursed the memory chip that meant he remembered the look on Cordelia's face when she contemplated, for the first time, what it would mean for Aral to die before Gregor reached his majority.

Piotr Vorkosigan had crowned two Emperors and never asked for anything but a Count's rights, but Simon knew better than anyone what he could do if pushed to it. If the Vorkosigan tree finally narrowed to one crippled infant, he had no idea whether Piotr would bother to restrain himself.

"My lord Count," he said crisply, standing as Count Vorkosigan entered his office. "Please, take a seat."

The Count, beard neatly trimmed but with bags under his eyes, sat. "Captain Illyan. It was surprising to receive a summons from you."

 _As the Emperor's left hand or Aral Vorkosigan's dog?_ He could only guess.

"Sir, I must admit there are security concerns over the fall-back plan," he said, clasping his hands on the desk. "In the event the Lord Regent does not return."

The Count's gaze narrowed and he snorted. "You mean, the Betan--"

" _Lady Vorkosigan_ ," Simon said, with a vehemence that surprised even himself.

After a moment, the Count conceded the point. "Lady Vorkosigan has security concerns over the--" He stopped himself. He and Simon exchanged long looks--two predators seeing which would come out the better in the fight. "I think you know what I mean," he said, evading the conflict without giving up ground.

"As Lady Vorkosigan and the Regent's wife, she has responsibility for both Lord Miles and the Emperor."

Unsurprisingly, the Count snorted. Simon hadn't been swayed by that logic either. "As long as--" Again he hesitated, and Simon waited. The title he gave his son would dictate the grounds of the fight. "Lord Vorkosigan remains alive," he said finally, and Simon relaxed fractionally, "then yes, Lady Vorkosigan has responsibility. But that responsibility--as you should know, _Captain_ \--devolves from Lord Vorkosigan. With his death, responsibility devolves to the closest male relative. In one case, that would be me. In the other..."

If he waited a thousand years, Piotr Vorkosigan would never finish that sentence. Despite all provocation and multiple opportunities, he had never moved to put himself on the camp stool. "Yes. Given the current instability, Lady Vorkosigan's responsibility is a legal fiction I would like to prolong if at all possible."

It didn't take long for the Count to process that. In the event the Regent was killed, yes, Miles's legal guardian would become his grandfather--no doubt to his immediate peril. But if Miles was removed from Cordelia's care, so too would be the Emperor--this time with no Regent standing in the wings to take over. Hence this gamble: Would Count Vorkosigan put the stability of the planet over the purity of his line?

He would, it seemed. "A perfectly understandable position," the Count said, leaning back in his chair. "I will, of course, give my full support to my daughter-in-law in such a trying time."

"I am glad to see we understand each other," Simon said with a smile. "I continue to hope for the Lord Regent's survival and well-being, but these contingency plans must be developed beforehand."

The Count responded with the same sort of smile-- _I know that you know that I know what we just did, and I'm not calling you on it because we both know, so to say it out loud would be crass. But now we know._ Co-conspirators, of a sort. "I understand perfectly, Captain. Will that be all?"

"Thank you for your time, my lord Count. I will send word once I have any of your son." He stood to see the Count out.

This time he got a genuine smile. "I look forward to it."

* * *

Aral had a guilty love for battle. The tiresome arguments, the worries of command, the constant stress over alliances and the situation at home--all melted away. His world narrowed to the command deck and his radio lines to the other ships.

"Tarrant, bring your ship up," he said into the open line. "All captains, prepare to receive fire."

There was no sound in space battles. There was no air for it to pass through, no molecules to jostle into each other. Some soldiers were so disconcerted by this that R&D had developed an audio program to simulate the sounds of space combat.

Aral preferred it.

The only noises on the bridge were the hum of electricity, the low rumble of the engines, and his own breath. He had a tactics display pulled up on his comconsole but checked it only rarely. "Berger, hold your ground. They're shielded, but they're there."

"Yessir," said Commodore Berger.

They had picked off the Cetagandan scout ships and maintained their hold over the wormhole. Six hours before, though, all contact with Kanzian had ceased, and he had no idea what was happening on the planet. Kanzian he trusted would play his part without any command at all; Komarr was another worry.

Still--no time for it now. "If anyone's trigger happy gunner fires early I will personally fillet them," he said, fixing all his attention on the holographic display of the approaching fleet. "Group Captain McKenna, radio silence on this side of the wormhole, if you please. Stand ready to fireship on my order. To all captains, see the latest formation on your display."

He knew--and knew the Cetagandans knew--the two fleets were technologically equivalent. The Cetas handily outgunned them on numbers alone, but he had an ace up his sleeve for that. The ghem-admiral in command had arranged his ships by reverse strength--opening with light cruisers and escalating up the line to dreadoughts--in order to sap the Barrayaran strength without risking expensive ships.

Aral had scattered his in a geodisc dome around the wormhole, interspersing his ships and breaking up the subcommands. He only had enough for two ranks, but all they had to do was hold. A frontal assault on any wormhole was foolish unless the ghem-admiral was willing to bleed for it. A frontal assault on a Barrayaran wormhole was asking for a Pyrrhic victory, and Aral was willing to give it to them.

He adjusted one last cruiser, placing it between two larger pocket dreadnoughts and made sure the relevant captains acknowledged the change.

Then the Cetas were upon them and Aral turned immediate command over to Commodore Goulandris. He stepped back to manage the fleet; there was always something to be fixed, some captain to be sent forward or called back. Even on the open fleet channel that the Cetas were no doubt tapping--as his ImpSec officer was tapping theirs in return--there were strategies that could be put in play to tie the Cetas up, keep them busy.

The first stage of the battle dragged on for an hour. The light Ceta ships were driven off by the mass fire from the dreadnoughts, and any which sought to outfly them ran into the Barrayaran's own light cruisers. A balance of cautious, long distance exchanges was achieved after only three Barrayaran losses, and Aral allowed himself a quick catnap and a meal replacement bar.

He was woken by his batman, who had an urgent message from Goulandris. The Cetagandans were bringing up their own dreadnoughts and the battle was starting to tip.

Aral dressed almost unconsciously and returned to the bridge. "Commodore Berger, second line into play now."

For another second he watched the display, and then, "All captains, Battle Plan Beta."

The second rank came forward and replaced the first, while the first--he could laugh at how smoothly they moved--swung out in all directions and forced the Cetagandans to extend their line. It meant they were meeting four or five Ceta ships with one but disrupted the neat Cetagandan formation.

Settling the earpiece, he took the command chair and dismissed the display. "Communications, do we have a secure channel?"

The Coms officer--Captain Vorgaulle--grinned. "Yessir."

"Connect me with Admiral Kanzian." He didn't grin himself, not yet. There was no point in celebrating before the battle was won--but the Cetagandans had set them up so _nicely_ for it.

The Cetas scrambled to respond to the change in Barrayaran tactics, and ended up with a similar interspersed front to the Barrayarans. But it was evident from the first instance of friendly fire that the Cetagandans were used to working in similar blocks of ships, and they were struggling to bring their greater massed firepower to bear on the well-trained Barrayarans. And then there was...

"Admiral Vorkosigan," Kanzian said in his ear, sounding delighted. "On your order, sir."

 _Now_ Aral smiled slightly. "Fire at will, Admiral," he said, and expanded his display to show the whole fight.

On the other side of the Cetagandan line, cutting them off from Komarr and their own wormhole, was Admiral Kanzian and the Komarr fleet.

* * *

"It's the delay," Cordelia said to Illyan, trying not to sound bitter. "Sure, he put fast courtiers at each wormhole, but we've had nothing out of them for a day now. _Anything_ could be happening."

Illyan, who had stepped away from ImpSec long enough to give the daily briefing, shrugged. "My lady, if I knew anything more, I would tell you."

Cordelia was the only person on the planet who would shove Captain Illyan of Imperial Security and get away with it, so she did so. It was good for him. "Don't call me that, you know better."

He ignored this. "The last we heard was the fleet was going through the Komarr wormhole to confront the Cetagandans and to not expect word until the situation was resolved, one way or another."

"How long do space battles take, anyway," Cordelia muttered, even though she knew better. They took as long as they would take, and the clean up took longer; it was altogether like Aral to delay a report until the situation was completely resolved, even though that meant leaving them to wait for days.

Graciously, Illyan didn't reply.

She scowled at him. "Is there anything else that concerns me, Captain?"

Habitually, _compulsively_ , Illyan checked the room rapidly for bugs--even though he had done so upon entry, and even though this was one of the most secured rooms in the highly secured Residence. "In the event of..." It was not often the composed Simon Illyan was lost for words. Cordelia saw him so now. "In the event we need a new Regent," he bit out, not looking at her. "Count Vorkosigan has made clear he will support your access to the Emperor until a new one is chosen."

For a second she stared. "You asked _him_ about this?"

He gave her one of those highly annoying Barrayaran looks. "My lady, if Count Vorkosigan supports your right to act as the Emperor's guardian, under the same code of honor he must also support your right to act as Lord Miles's guardian."

She paused, thought, and said quietly, "Thank you, Simon."

He smiled. "That does conclude the briefing. The moment I have word, I will let you know."

"And don't call me 'my lady'," she said, but he was already out the door.

* * *

Kanzian's ships didn't bother wasting energy on braking, trusting to the Cetagandan shields to stop them before actual ship-to-ship collisions. They came in firing hot, and continued right up until the Cetagandan flagship broadcast an all-frequencies distress call.

Aral accepted it, of course. It was by far better to capture Cetas than kill them, especially when they had no answer yet for why the invasion at all.

The ghem-admiral looked stiff and worn, and probably had not had a good night's sleep since they had arrived. Good. Aral hadn't either. He didn't bother with a translator. "Admiral, we surrender with one condition."

"They're not in a position to make demands," Captain Vorgaulle said in an undertone.

Aral ignored him; he remembered the Cetagandan conditions from his textbooks. Fascinating to see them in real life. "I understand, ghem-Admiral, that you do not want to be repatriated to the Cetagandan Empire."

Somehow the ghem-admiral conspired to look even stiffer. "If at all possible, sir. We rest on your honor."

And, of course, he would have been bound by that regardless, but now it was just one more weight on his shoulders. He flipped the comms to general broadcast. "All ships, hold fire. Ghem-Admiral, if you could have your men stand down and prepare to receive boarding parties. I will need hostages, you understand."

"Yes, sir. I will not offer those I cannot speak for, but myself and all my ship captains stand ready."

He nodded. "Admiral Kanzian, do you copy?"

"I do, sir," Kanzian said, in no way restraining his smile. "I shall take responsibility of the captured ships."

"Very good." He returned his attention to the ghem-admiral--Simon would know his name and family by the facepaint, but Aral's courses had never included such details. Instead he knew ship combat forwards and backwards. "Ghem-Admiral, I require from you your knowledge of the situation on Komarr."

Under the facepaint, he thought the ghem-admiral looked despairing. "You have our peaceful compliance, sir, but not that. I know nothing of the situation on Komarr which I may say in public."

"Understood," Aral said shortly, and shot a look at his ImpSec Major, who began tapping on his keyboard--sending orders to men in Kanzian's ships, who could bring in any ghem officers who might have useful information. It was more than they'd had so far: Confirmation, from an admiral, that something was wrong on Komarr, wronger than might be presupposed by the Cetagandan presence alone.

In the meantime: "I leave you to the gentle hands of my soldiers," he said dryly. "Provide them with all respect and compliance, and they will not harm you. You have my word on that." He made eye contact over the display with Captain Vorgaulle, who paled.

There were a few more exchanges of words, and then he had Captain Vorgaulle cut the comms. Clean-up time--and time to write his report home, so that they could, perhaps, deal with only one crisis at a time.

* * *

Cordelia made an utterly undignified noise when Simon finished his report and--very nearly--hugged him. She had imagined--countless things, disasters, wormhole jumps into oblivion, ship malfunctions, betrayal, mutiny, everything up to an outright defeat from the Cetagandans. And now, after two days of silence--an overwhelming victory, negligible losses, Aral not only safe but in good spirits, and with all the loose ends being tied up properly, as per him.

She managed to keep from doing anything atrocious, although it came close. "Thank you," she said eventually. "Say thank you, Gregor."

Gregor, no doubt, had understood the import of one word in four. "Thank you," he said. He held her hand and fidgeted. "So Aral's coming home?"

Cordelia raised an eyebrow at Simon.

Unflappable--the war, the attempted revolt, the nights of no sleep, and the only dent in Simon's complexion was that he'd used concealer under his eyes--Simon went to one knee. "Sire, I am overjoyed to report that the Lord Regent returns, and will be at the Residence in two days."

He didn't move from his position at her side, but Cordelia looked down and could see just the faintest edges of a smile.


End file.
